Once, she had even entertained the idea of becoming one. She certainly had a way in, if she wanted to try.
The music changed tempo slightly, just enough to signal something was about to happen. Lights flickered, drawing in the crowd’s attention to the entrance of the runway. Andrea stepped out of the sheer black curtains with her blood red smirk and a single hand held high. Her hair had been piled high on her head in a messy up-do. She wore one of her signature black dresses, detailed along the smooth lines with chrome to fit the theme of the event.
Then, as quickly as her mother had come, she was gone.
The music changed again just as the first model stepped onto the runway. Andrea Gallucci fashions weren’t about being crazy and out there. Her mother liked class, and style. Simple was sometimes the sexiest. She wanted to see each and every woman in one of her designs … if they had the luxury of being able to afford one of the pieces.
Violet figured they were probably half-way through the first run of the collection when her father tensed in his chair beside hers. She shot him a curious glance, noting he was looking down at the phone in his hand. Instantly, his confusion melted into a simmering rage that danced across his scowling lips and narrowed eyes.
She tried to look at his phone, but he quickly hid it.
What was wrong?
Alberto leaned to the side, toward his son. Violet watched her father’s lips move fast—too fast for him to be happy.
It wasn’t like Alberto to cause a fuss on a day that was meant to spotlight and showcase their mother, never mind the public attention on their family.
Something had to be bad for him to do that.
People were taking his picture, catching his visible anger.
Alberto would never risk that being caught—not like this.
“I didn’t,” she heard Carmine say.
“Bullshit.”
The one word from her father might as well have been spit from his mouth. And it hadn’t been quiet, either.
“Daddy,” Violet said softly. “People are watching.”
Alberto straightened in his chair, glanced around and fixed his jacket.
“Papa,” Carmine started to say.
Alberto held up a hand, silencing his son. “I warned you.”
Violet still didn’t understand what was going on. Her father stood from his chair, seemingly oblivious to the people watching him all over again with their curious gazes. People knew who they were—who her father was.
“Apologize to your mother for me,” Alberto said.
He had directed his comment to Violet only, not Carmine.
“Sure,” she said.
Her father offered nothing else before he disappeared into the crowd. Carmine cursed on the other side of Violet, but she ignored him. A heavy feeling had settled in her gut.
“What was that all about?” Nicole asked from Violet’s right.
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
And she didn’t know if she wanted to.
Kaz was on his back in nothing more than a pair of jeans, as he lifted the cigarette to his lips, dragged in a lungful and held it, letting the nicotine burn before releasing it. It was rare that he smoked, only indulged a handful of times when he wanted to take the edge off.
The day had come and gone, filled with long hours of business with the men that answered to him, and some that didn’t. Now that he was finally home, he was ready to call it a night. Try and get some sleep before he needed to be back up and doing that shit all over again.
He had just ground out the cigarette in the ashtray on his bedside table when his phone’s vibrations cut through the silence. He contemplated ignoring the call for only a handful of seconds before he saw who was calling.
Ruslan.
The party had gone well a few days ago. Vasily had left him be, though he hadn’t spoken to him once. Even the monthly meeting had been easy enough. And while they didn’t talk every day, Kaz and his siblings, when they did call, he never ignored their calls.
“Rus, what’s up?”
“We’ve got a problem.”
Kaz sat straight up, already on his feet before Ruslan could get out another word. It was his tone, the hardness that was twined around his words, that made Kaz move without question. His brother was fully capable of handling himself, had been for far longer than Kaz was alive, so if Ruslan was calling him, it was serious.
“Talk to me.” Kaz grabbed a shirt from the closet, not bothering to pull it on as he snatched his keys from the counter and practically ran out of his apartment. “Are you at the club?”
“Yeah. I got a call from one of my guys, said they saw an Escalade driving around. I didn’t think much of it until he called again and said he saw it again circling the club. Once is a coincidence, and twice …”
He didn’t have to finish that statement for Kaz to know what he meant. Twice meant somebody was trolling.
But who the fuck was stupid enough to be so obvious about it?